Thursday, February 4, 2010

Revolving Door

I checked dad out of the hospital today. I worked until 1:10 or so, picked up my mom at 2, went with her to visit dad, and the doctor said that I might as well take him home. They still hadn't figured out what was causing the kidney problems and his inability to pee or the retained fluid. But there was nothing more to do for him there, so they sent him home, until he can see his nephrologist at UCI, with two new prescriptions--yet another antibiotic because the infection, stubborn little bug, is still there, and a diuretic to keep down the fluids and stave off dialysis for a while. He was his old self, demanding things, such as fresh underwear, his voice much stronger than before. They peeled away the oxygen tube, and he was fine. It took 5 hours from start to finish to get him out of the hospital and me home. I hadn't eaten anything since 6 AM. Oddly, I felt buoyant and not hungry for a while. But then it hit me, when I got him to his house and was stumbling up the driveway. Dealing with my mom was really shocking this afternoon. She has deteriorated markedly since my dad went into the hospital, seeing and hearing people everywhere who are not there, making absolutely NO sense whatsoever. She forgot how to sit down in the car and how to walk in the parking lot. At the sight of lines by the handicapped spot, she thought they were steps, and nearly fell trying to negotiate the non-existent stairs. The caregiver will sleep next to them tonight, trying to keep my mom from disturbing my father's sleep.

4 comments:

Thanks Lou. At least my dad can walk with his walker, and does not yet need dialysis, and the doctor says that when or if that time comes, there are vans that will take him to treatments. I wonder if medicare will cover them.

Thanks Marly. Sometimes I don't manage too well, like yesterday ecvening when I SORT OF broke down and cried. By the way, I didn't win the Real Simple essay contest, I learned, so I am thinking of sending that how I became a grownup essay I wrote this summer to Riverteeth, unless you have any other suggestions.

About Me

It feels odd to tell people, when they ask you what you do, that you are a poet. It is of course not a proper profession, if by "proper" one means a job that brings in money.
It is most certainly an occupation though. Reading, writing, going to poetry events make up a sizable percentage of my life.